


Play the Music That Speaks to My Heart

by capn_cecil_ang



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bathroom Sex, Blow Jobs, Brawl - Freeform, First Kiss, Homophobic Language, Inspired by Music, Jaskier's in a band, Kinda, Love at First Sight, M/M, Rave, Recreational Drug Use, Smoking, Songfic, folk metal band
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:40:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22738930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capn_cecil_ang/pseuds/capn_cecil_ang
Summary: “What have I done?” Jaskier sighs heavily as he’s rolling his second joint, sprawled on the couch in his tiny, cheap apartment. He’s adamant about his opinion of them needing one excellent song for the album. After all, it might be their only chance to rise. But writing a song is never easy. And writing a song when you’re on the clock is almost impossible.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Original Female Character(s), Jaskier | Dandelion & Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 118
Collections: The Witcher Alternate Universes





	Play the Music That Speaks to My Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rakshena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rakshena/gifts), [AryaFT](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AryaFT/gifts).



> So, here's the story. I have stumbled across a metal version of Toss a Coin to Your Witcher song on Youtube and it blew me away. 
> 
> So naturally, one idea came, then the other, and this is the result.
> 
> Also, I was listening to Dethklok most of the time I was writing this, so the bandmembers of Devil's Bards are slightly, very vaguely inspired by members of Dethklok (the original, animated ones, not the real ones).

“No, no, no, no, no,” Jaskier proclaims. He paces around the studio, pulling at his hair. “It’s gotta be epic, legendary, something that will sound like death, and destiny, heroics, and heartbreak. Something deep, but catchy, but intriguing at the same time.” He stops and faces the rest of his bandmates. Jaskier puts his hands on his hips in an attempt of a power pose. But his hair is sticking to every possible angle, and he's red in the face from exasperation. So no-one can really blame his bandmates when they don’t take him too seriously. Bronagh even chuckles lightly from behind her drum set. Jaskier shots her an annoyed look and starts talking again, gesturing dramatically. 

“It has to be a hit, chums. Something that will get people to say: ‘Ah yes, it’s Devil’s Bards. This song is amazing. I bet all their other songs are this amazing too. I’m gonna buy their CD.’”

Matt, band’s bass guitarist, a bald skinny guy with a forked brown beard that reaches to his chest, sighs heavily and throws his hands in defeat. “Look, Jask. You know I usually agree with you. But we only have a week to finish this album. We don’t have time to write a new song from scratch.”

Jaskier crosses his hands at his chest and looks at twins, Thelia and Tolvi, sitting on the couch. Thelia is plucking at her fiddle, only half listening. When Jaskier speaks her name, she looks up, her long eyelashes obscured by the loose strands of long flaxen hair. She rolls her eyes, and Jaskier knows precisely what she’s thinking. She’d be rather playing her new Fender than sit here, listening to this. He knows because she didn’t stop talking about it the whole day. 

“Honestly, don’t drag me into this,” she mutters. “You’re gonna do what you want anyway, Jaskier. You always do.”

Jaskier gasps at her, taken aback. “I would never...” he starts, not sure how to continue. After a moment of thought, he turns to the rest of them again. “You really think I’m this selfish? I... I just want what is best for the band. Or do you not want to finally rise from the ashes of underground folk metal like a Phoenix, soaring to the sky of newfound opportunities and fame we all deserve?” 

“Just don’t end up like Icarus,” Tolvi mumbles.

Jaskier’s eyes shot to him, and he blinks a few times. Did Tolvi really just stood up against him? Tolvi is a band’s rhythm guitarist and occasional flautist, and keyboardist. And if there are two things certain about Tolvi, it’s this: he can talk about folklore and mythology for ages, so be very careful what you say around him. And he basically idolizes Jaskier, so he would never, ever disagree with him. Only he just did.

“Tolvi?” Jaskier says, his eyes wide. Tolvi’s eyes linger on Jaskier for a moment, before he looks down to the ground, tucking his hair, equally as flaxen as his sister’s, behind his ear.

“J,” Bronagh says, keeping her voice even-tempered. “Matt is right. We only have a week to finish this. And the sound is not mixed yet. I’d rather have a decent album than no album.”

Jaskier’s eyes shot at her, raising an eyebrow. “That’s what your father would want for you? Mediocrity over your real potential?”

Bronagh’s lips form a thin line, and her features harden. She narrows her eyes, and Jaskier notices her fists clenching at her sides. Then she shakes her head and takes a moment to put her ginger dreadlocks into a ponytail. Jaskier knows she’s trying her hardest not to burst something at him. When she looks back at Jaskier, her gaze is still hard, but the flame that was there before is just a mere spark. 

“You’ve got 24 hours. If you can come up with a song... a full song, not just lyrics, until tomorrow afternoon, we’ll consider adding it to the mix.” 

“Fine,” Jaskier says.

“But it has to be a hit,” Bronagh adds with a slight grin. “You think you can do that?”

Jaskier snickers. “You think I can write a bad song?”

Bronagh stands up from her drum set and makes a few steps towards Jaskier. She faces him, the flame in her green eyes lighting up again. Oh, she enjoys this, Jaskier thinks.

“Show me you can write a perfect one and then will see.”

Jaskier narrows his eyes on her for a bit, then nods meaningfully. “Challenge accepted.”

Bronagh extends her hand, and Jaskier takes it. They shake in agreement, making their deal official.

******

“What have I done?” Jaskier sighs heavily as he’s rolling his second joint, sprawled on the couch in his tiny, cheap apartment. He’s adamant about his opinion of them needing one excellent song for the album. After all, it might be their only chance to rise. But writing a song is never easy. And writing a song when you’re on the clock is almost impossible. 

Jaskier sighs again, taking a drag out of his joint. He closes his eyes and just lies on the couch for a while. Come on, he thinks, furrowing his eyebrows. Usually, he’s overflowing with new ideas. Why is he not able to come up with one little song now, when he needs it the most? 

“Fuck!” Jaskier grunts as he feels his phone vibrates. Like he needs more distractions right now.

He fishes out his phone and unlocks it. There’s a reminder from his Facebook app about the rave this evening.

“Oh shit!” Jaskier exclaims as he clicks on the notification.

Working on the album and being locked in the studio from dusk to dawn made Jaskier forgot about this event. And now, he couldn’t possibly go, could he?

“Unless,” Jaskier says to himself as he looks over details of the event. “Maybe it would help me get some inspiration.” Jaskier bites his lower lip as he checks the address of the club. “I might even find my muse,” he says with a grin, as he checks the directions to get there. 

Half an hour later, Jaskier is looking at himself in the mirror appreciatively. His hair is effectively dishevelled, looking just the right amount of I-just-woke-up-looking-this-awesome. His blue eyes are accentuated by the black eye-liner, and the light in his room gently reflects off the silver stud in his chin. He has a golden t-shirt on, and his hairy chest is poking out of a deep v-neck. Pine green trousers are moulding around Jaskier’s ass, and the white-pink-green hoodie is complementing Jaskier’s already extravagant look. Black might be the colour of Jaskier’s music, but his soul is flaring.

******

Jaskier looks up from his phone and scans the street. Google maps say he reached his destination, but he doesn’t see anything that might look like a night club. It would definitely help if Jaskier knew the place, but he never heard of a night club called Rivia before. Must be new, he thinks as he glances on the screen of his phone again. 

“Aha,” he exclaims triumphantly, noticing the dot on the screen is behind the corner. That must mean that the club should be, Jaskier walks further and turns the corner to see a handful of people queuing in front of the tiny entrance.

“There,” Jaskier breaths out and grins widely. “Finally.”

It’s definitely not as grand as Jaskier was expecting, but the music sounding from inside sounds too good to miss out. Jaskier scans the crowd again and counts about forty people standing outside. He’s not too keen on waiting, but he’s sure it won’t take that long. He joins the queue and shoves his hands in his hoodie pockets. There are few people his age standing outside, and a whole lot of younger people. Not that Jaskier would bee any old fart, but let’s be honest, he is turning 30 in a few years. Spending his nights partying at raves, smoking cigarettes and joints might not be the ideal lifestyle, but he likes it. The freedom of non-commitment and casual hook-ups is too enticing to pass upon. Plus, he never felt like a long-term relationship kind of guy anyway. 

Jaskier lights a cigarette while waiting and lets his thoughts run freely, thinking about nothing in particular. After a moment of drifting, he’s brought back to reality by the loud high pitched swear.

“Sod off! Seriously?” Jaskier hears a woman’s voice call out. His eyes follow the sound, but can’t really see the person making it. No-one stands behind Jaskier yet, so he risks stepping out and taking a glimpse of what’s happening at the entrance. A short blonde woman is gesturing vaguely at the bouncer. It's hilarious. Jaskier grins, cigarette at his mouth. The woman stomps her feet and gestures threateningly at the huge bouncer who’s practically towering over her. When Jaskier’s eyes land on the bouncer properly, he freezes mid puff. 

The bouncer is a huge guy, at least six feet tall, and very muscular. His hair is long and completely white, and put up in half ponytail. Most of them are falling freely on his broad shoulders. His features are rough and hardened, his jaw wide. Dressed all in black leather from head to toe, he gives off an almost medieval vibe. The yellow light of the neon sight spelling Night Club Rivia is illuminating over him. As he’s looming over the short blonde woman, he seems almost ethereal.

“Fuck me,” Jaskier breaths out, and the afterthought of his statement catches shortly to him. He licks his lips as he watches the bouncer say something to the short woman in front of him. Shit, he’s hot, Jaskier thinks, not able to get his eyes off of him.

The lady hands the guy a small card, and the bouncer looks at it carefully, studying it. Then he hands it back to the lady and shakes his head. The lady curses again and points her index finger to the bouncer’s chest. Jaskier notices an iron circle on the bouncer’s chest, and he wonders what it could be. The bouncer levels the lady down with a hard glare, and she huffs and turns around, making her way past the queue hastily. As she passes next to Jaskier, he notices she is much younger than he previously thought.

When the lady turns the corner, a wave of curses escaping her mouth, Jaskier’s eyes travel back to the bouncer. The tall guy is watching to his direction, no doubt watching after the young girl. But when Jaskier looks his way, their eyes meet momentarily, and Jaskier feels the familiar spark in the pit of his stomach. Well, I’m fucked, he thinks.

Ten minutes pass until Jaskier is standing close enough to get a good look at the bouncer again. His hair is snowy white, and Jaskier wonders how he achieves that - it doesn’t look like a wig, after all. The leather outfit is tightly moulding around the bouncer's muscles and oh how his muscles bulge every time he makes a move. The pendant on the guy's chest is an iron circle with a wolf's head from a profile. Somehow it completely fits his attire, and Jaskier can’t even picture the guy wearing anything else but black leather and this particular necklace.

The bouncer lets a group of six in, and before he turns to another person, his eyes meet with Jaskier’s again. Jaskier’s stomach flips and clenches at the same time, cause the look the guy gives him is both hot and scary. And shit, the light from the neon sign is either very intense, or he's way too high, cause he would swear the guy's eyes are yellow. 

It doesn’t take long, and Jaskier is halting a few inches in front of the bouncer. I definitely overdid it with molly tonight, Jaskier thinks, because even up close, the guy's eyes seem entirely yellow. 

“Wow,” Jaskier says, gesturing dramatically. “Love the way you just stand here and brood.”

The bouncer stares at him, unblinking, his yellow eyes boring into Jaskier. The bouncer grunts. Jaskier raises one eyebrow and licks his lips.

“Look, you... are... hot... And I’d love to stay here and chat with you all night long. But there’s a party inside that’s waiting for me.” Jaskier says and makes a move to come inside. The bouncer’s hand is on his chest suddenly, effortlessly pushing him back to his place.

“Wha-?” Jaskier stares at the bouncer, opening and closing his mouth, trying to think up what to say.

“You’re not going in,” the bouncer’s deep voice sounds, and a spark of arousal shots through Jaskier’s body. Because of course, he has a deep, gritty voice, he thinks. Fuck. Only if I met this guy on the dance floor - we could have been making out right now.

“What do you mean I’m not going in?” Jaskier composes himself. 

Bouncer levels him with an unblinking glare. “You look like trouble.”

“Uh-what?” Jaskier gasps at him.

The bouncer raises his eyebrows slightly, almost inviting Jaskier to retort him.

“Alright look, you sexy giant,” Jaskier says, gesturing vaguely at the big guy.

Bouncer tilts his head slightly. A small hint of an amused grin smile appears on his face. 

“Oh, alright, you think you’re gonna win this round, don’t you?" Jaskier says, narrowing his eyes. “Well, I’ll tell you what you... watcher. I am gonna talk until I figure out a plan to get past your brawny... sexy... you.” Jaskier blabbers, trying to gain time. “Ah, yes,” Jaskier exclaims victoriously as the idea sparks inside him. He fishes a wallet out of his pocket and faces the bouncer again. “How many coins would it cost me to go inside?”

“You’re not getting in,” the bouncer says, looking at Jaskier from above with his unblinking stare.

“Alright, why?” Jaskier says, putting his hands on his hips. “Cause you can’t just not let folks in without reason. I demand you to tell me—”

“You talk too much,” the bouncer’s gritty voice interrupts him.

Jaskier’s words catch in his throat as he blinks a few times at the huge guy. “You... you can’t just. Well, that is just rude,” he says, taken aback.

“Oi! Stop making a fuss up there!” someone shouts from behind them, and another voice chimes in. “Yeah! Move along, you twat!”

Jaskier pouts his lips, irritated. “Alright,” Jaskier says, resorting to his last plan. He licks his lips and grins at the bouncer. “You look like a chum who likes his music heavy. Well, truth be told, I am a singer in a band called Devil’s Bards. I could, you know,” Jaskier bats his eyelashes at the giant and reaches his hand towards bouncers peck, “provide you with a ticket to our next show. A backstage ticket even.”

Jaskier has only time to blink once before he registers the bouncer moving. Suddenly his hand, previously on bouncer's peck, is twisted weirdly and painfully, and the bouncer is grabbing him by the collar.

“Oh, fun,” Jaskier grins at the bouncer with a spark in his eyes, trying not to let him show how much it hurts, “do it harder.”

The bouncer pulls Jaskier closer, so their faces are almost touching. Jaskier feels the guy’s hot breath on his lips and... shit if it’s not turning him on, the way the guy is maltreating him.

The bouncer gives Jaskier a hard glare and grunts: “Fuck off, bard.” 

With that, he tosses him away from the crowd, and it takes all the luck and strength that is left in Jaskier to not fall down on the pavement disgracefully.

“Mother of...,” Jaskier mumbles as he’s smoothing his outfit, glaring at the bouncer. The bouncer doesn’t even spare him another glance, though, as he’s letting other people in. Jaskier keeps looking at him for a while, trying to come up with a way to get passed him. Maybe if I dash and duck, he thinks. But the guy seems to be really swift for his weight. 

“Shit!” Jaskier curses and turns around. Maybe today isn’t his lucky day.

Jaskier walks towards the corner of the building and lights up a cigarette. He is musing about a new plan, trying to clear his head. The guy might not be up there all night. If he’d just wait until another bouncer comes outside. He disregards this plan right away, though. It might take ages until the guy is replaced if that's even going to happen. There’s probably a back entrance to the club, Jaskier thinks. But how would I get inside? They’re definitely not letting it open for every sad fuck who can’t get in through the main door.

As Jaskier is standing in the street, leaning against the wall, suddenly a beautiful woman with long dark hair walks up to him.

“Have a spare?” she asks, and Jaskier looks up to her. He is momentarily taken aback by her bright violet eyes. I must really lay off of molly for this night, he thinks. He fishes out his pack and points to the lady. She takes one cigarette and puts it between her bright red lips. Jaskier looks her up and down unashamedly. She is beautiful; he can't deny that. With her wavy dark hair and sexy figure accentuated by a very tight dress. But there is also something scary and mean about her, that Jaskier can’t quite depict. He lights her cigarette and puffs from his.

“So Geralt didn’t let you in?” she asks as she draws from her cigarette.

Jaskier glances at her before he returns his look at the half-empty street. “What of it?”

“I could tell you how to get in if you wanna know.”

Jaskier looks at her again, studying her carefully. “Why’d you do that?”

She smiles at him, a visible pity written all over her face. “Look, I’m just gonna give you a bit of advice. Take it, or leave it.” 

Jaskier scoffs. He doesn’t need someone helping him out of pity.

“There’s a back entrance around the corner.” she points her finger in the direction of the said entrance. “And a bartender who has a shift tonight takes a break to smoke every two hours, like a clockwork. He should be out,” she fishes out her phone and checks the time, “about now. He’ll let anyone in for a price.”

Jaskier’s eyes narrow, even more, his blue irises are almost invisible in the small gaps. “If you know all this, why are you here?”

The violet eyes spark as the woman says: “I like to flirt with the bouncer.”

Jaskier huffs a little laugh. “Well, good luck with that. He’s not very flirtatious.”

A lady gives him a pitiful smile. “Depends on the person who’s flirting with him.”

Jaskier feels a sharp stab at his heart. Why is everyone so mean around here? He thinks. But it is a shame. Jaskier was really hoping Geralt would be kicking for his team. No straight guy can pull off a leather outfit so well, after all. This place seems to be getting less and less appealing for Jaskier, though. But he’s going to get inside one way or another, just to spite that bouncer. And then, when he’ll be going home, he’ll walk through that front entrance and swipe it in his face that he got in without him even noticing.

Jaskier walks around the corner, and just like the violet-eyed woman said, there is a back-door there. A tall guy with slick black hair is smoking outside, the door to the bar shored up with a brick. 

“Hey,” Jaskier says, and the bartender’s eyes shot to him. 

“What’cha doing ‘ere, boy?” the bartender asks sharply.

“So uh,” Jaskier says, shifting from one leg to another. “I’ve heard you could let me in.”

Bartender rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Yen’s here again? I swear if she keeps sending me desperate midgets here...”

“Hey, I’m not desperate!” Jaskier retorts. “It’s not my fault that the bouncer on duty is a dick.”

The bartender looks him up and down and takes a drag. “Geralt has a good nose on people. If he doesn’t want to let you in, he must have a good reason.”

“Uh... yeah,” Jaskier says, “he’s reason being... he’s a... a... horse’s arse.”

Bartender snickers and throws away his fag end. “You’re funny, little guy.” 

He looks at Jaskier again, sizing him up. After a moment of silence, he says: “Tell you what. I’ll let you in, but just to despise Yennefer and Geralt.”

Jaskier shrugs. “I don’t really know the lady, but I’d love to spite that twat.”

The bartender gives him a half-smirk and holds the door open for him. “Come on, then.”

As soon as they get to the central part of the club, Jaskier’s senses are overwhelmed by the stimuli - the lights, the music, the smell of alcohol, perfumes, and sweat. Oh yeah, Jaskier thinks. This is where the party is at. 

The bartender returns to his bar duty, and Jaskier stays alone, scanning the situation. It’s just a matter of time, and Jaskier is dancing in the middle of the crowd, quite inebriated. He has discarded his jacket somewhere and is now dancing only in his sparkly golden t-shirt and green pants. A hot blond guy is grinding against him to the rhythm of the music, and soon they’re making out. Jaskier’s lost in the music and the kiss and blond’s musky scent, and for a moment, it’s just them two and the music, nothing else. Then the guy slips something into Jaskier’s mouth between their kisses, and Jaskier knows he shouldn’t be this reckless. Still, it feels good, and his head starts to spin, and he can actually feel the music now, and it’s just too good to decline.

Time flies, and Jaskier dances and jumps and kisses and drinks. He feels free, like a bird soaring up in the sky. He doesn’t care what time it is, or who sees him, he’s enjoying life for what it is - an endless party. 

Jaskier might not track time, but his body does. And there comes a time when his body sends a signal to his brain, craving more tobacco. He excuses himself from the blond guy as much as he’s able to, in the deafening noise of the music, and makes his way away from the dance floor. He looks for the exit and starts climbing the stairs to get there. But then stops in his tracks, midway to the entrance. No, not yet, he thinks. He sure would love to see the dumbfounded expression of a particular bouncer as he emerges from the front door and lights a cigarette. But that would mean he probably wouldn’t be able to go back and he’s not ready to leave this party yet. Instead, Jaskier looks around the club and tries to remember the way to the back entrance.

Jaskier stumbles out to the street, thankfully sober enough to put a brick at the door, so he could get back. Then he leans against the cold wall and fishes homemade spliff out of his pocket. He lights it up and draws a long drag. The effect surges through him almost immediately. His head is light, and his body is starting to relax. Jaskier closes his eyes and enjoys the feeling of openness and calmness. He feels like he can feel every crack and bump of the wall as he runs his hands across it. The coldness of the night’s air is washing over Jaskier’s face, and he breathes in deeply, feeling the fresh air and the distinct smell of tobacco and weed.

He isn’t sure how long he is out there, with eyes closed, his mind filling with images and melodies. He's letting himself be carried away by it, trying to get to his breakthrough idea. He knows he’s close, he almost has a new song on the tip of his tongue. But it’s still eluding him, he’s not able to grasp the idea altogether. Suddenly the synopses in his brain join, and the idea sparks. And Jaskier knows he has it. Or at least, a part of it. 

But then he’s thrown away from his thoughts when he hears a hard metallic bang that hurts his ears. Shortly comes a peal of high pitched laughter, and Jaskier opens his eyes. He follows the sound to see three very drunk guys coming out of the back entrance, the door closing behind them.

“Oi,” Jaskier says, annoyed. That was his only way back inside. 

“What’s this?” one of the guys, dressed in neon clothes, says, “Hey, didn’t we see you inside?”

“Yeah, we did, didn’t we?” his friend chips in, a wicked grin on his face that shows his crooked teeth. “You’re that poofter who was making out in the middle of the dance floor.”

“Ain’t this a good evening, boys?” the third guy says and laughs eerily. Jaskier can see a glimpse of a silver piercing in his tongue. “Here I was, thinking this night can’t get any better. And now this pansy comes our way. Let’s beat him up, boys.” 

Jaskier’s spliff drops to the ground, forgotten. He should run, he knows he should, but his legs feel like lead, and the guys seem to be extremely fast as they crowd him against the wall.

“Look at him, little guy,” a guy in neon clothes laughs. “He’s even got a nancy eye-liner.”

“You like taking it up your arse?” a guy with crooked teeth asks.

“Why?” Jaskier raises his eyebrows. “You wanna piece of this arse? Not with that teeth, luv.” Jaskier is a bit taken aback by his newfound bravery, but he knows he’s not gonna get out of here without few scratches, so he might as well make it count.

Crooked-teeth punches Jaskier in the mouth, and he falls back against the wall, his cheek hitting the cold soothing surface. Fuck me, Jaskier thinks. Before he can muster more thoughts or actions, another blow comes, right to his gut. He bends down, and then he only can hear a maniacal laughing and feel the uncountable hard fists and kicks hitting him from both above and below. It feels like an eternity, the fists are coming and landing, and Jaskier tries to fight back, but he can’t think clearly. 

And when he’s already on his knees, trying to catch a breath, he hears it. A strong gruff of “leave him alone,” and Jaskier thinks he’s dreaming, cause he thinks the count of the fists lessens and then there's a hard thud and a “fuck off” from one of the guys, he can’t recall which one.

There are sounds of few grunts and punches, falling and scrambling up to the feet, and then the punches stop entirely, and there is dead silence for a split of a second. Jaskier opens his heavy eyelids and sees one of the guys kneeling on the ground, spitting blood. He shots a stinky glance at Jaskier and speaks. His mouth is bloody, and the silver piercing in his tongue is making a contrast against the sea of red. “You’re lucky tonight, poofter.” Then a big dark boot kicks him in the ass, and he falls down to the ground, grunting. 

“I won’t say it twice.” a gruff voice says, and Jaskier knows he heard that voice before. The guys scramble away, and Jaskier sits on his heels, closing his eyes again. He hears footsteps running away and hushed voices jabbering. It’s too far and quick for Jaskier to decipher it, though. Then there is the sound of heavier footsteps, and Jaskier braces himself for the next punch. But what comes is something different. Something light and damp lands at Jaskier’s head, shielding his vision. Jaskier frowns and reaches up to take the cloth off his head. As he pulls it over, he realizes it’s his jacket. 

“I thought I told you to fuck off.” the gruff voice says again, and Jaskier looks up. When he sees the mixture of black, white, and golden in front of him, he huffs an amused sigh. “Bollocks,” he says, cackling uncontrollably. “Oh, this is priceless,” he says, forgetting about his pain for a moment. “The hero of the innocent, a... a big white wolf or whatever, saves the day.” 

He hears a grunt from the bouncer, and then two strong arms are shoving him up the wall.

“Hey, what are you—?” Jaskier frowns.

“You’re coming with me.” the bouncer says and takes Jaskier by the collar.

Jaskier protests and tries to talk himself out of it, but the bouncer is like a silent statue as he drags him to the front entrance and then inside the club. Jaskier can’t feel the ground under his feet, as Geralt is more carrying than dragging him effortlessly through the depths of the club. And Jaskier is actually starting to feel scared as he’s been carried away lower and deeper. The three homophobic guys were scary, sure, but not as frightening as colossal silent leather-cladded dude towing him to the darkroom. Jaskier silently curses the treacherous vocal cords of his that make him whimper when he sees a dark hallway and the red door at the end of it. He closes his eyes and accepts his fate.

Jaskier knows they walked into the room with red door only by the sound as he refuses to open his eyes. Not that he has any expectations of what's about to come, but when he feels he’s being tossed through the air, it surprises him. Shortly, Jaskier lands on the soft surface with a grunt, his face burying into an unknown object. He scrambles himself up, sitting upright. As he looks around, he realizes he’s in the small room with brown panelling. The bouncer disappeared somewhere, and Jaskier is now sure he went to call the manager. It’s not great, but it’s definitely better than whatever Jaskier thought was going to happen to him. I can talk myself out of this yet, Jaskier thinks. 

Jaskier takes the time he’s waiting for the manager to look around the room. The room is rather modest, not how you would expect a manager of a massive night club to be. There is a black couch he’s currently sitting on, a desk with a chair with loads of papers across it, and a small stereo system next to it. Posters and pictures are covering the walls of the room, and Jaskier notices there are various musicians and DJs on them. They must be the musicians that have graced Rivia with their presence in the past. It still escapes him how he never heard of this club before, since it seems like it’s pretty well known and long-running. 

Jaskier stands up and walks towards one of the posters, depicting a beautiful woman with dark skin, smiling brightly at the stage. The picture is in bright colours of 70s style, and her clothes are also pretty old fashioned. Jaskier is mesmerized by an image, trying to dig in his memory, who could this be. A sound of the door behind him takes him out of his thoughts immediately.

“Sit down,” voice grunts, and Jaskier stops mid-turn. Wait, what? He turns fully around and realizes he is once again facing the bouncer from the earlier. Jaskier opens his mouth to say something, but the bouncer gives him a hard glare, which makes Jaskier’s words stuck in his throat. Maybe I was celebrating too soon, after all, he thinks.

Jaskier sits back on the couch obediently, watching as the bouncer makes few steps closer to him. With every step the white-haired man makes closer to him, Jaskier feels his heart beating faster and faster. Then the man takes the chair from behind the desk and sets it right in front of him. Jaskier tries to swallow the lump in his throat. He didn’t even notice when it formed, but he finds it impossible.

The bouncer sits down across him and looks him over quickly. 

“It’s not that bad,” he says, his voice a bit softer than before. “How do you feel?”

Jaskier blinks a few times, not knowing what to say. Then his gaze falls down, and he notices the bouncer has gauze and rubbing alcohol in his hands. Jaskier mouths an “oh” and his eyes level with bouncer’s again. The bouncer is frowning slightly, and Jaskier grins widely. “Oh, I am so relieved. I thought you were going to kill me for a minute.” 

The golden eyes roll in annoyance, and the bouncer says: “I still might later. Right now, I’m going to clean you up. You have a nasty gash on your forehead.”

Jaskier’s hand shots up, trying to feel the wound he didn’t even know he had. All the adrenaline that rushed through him made him unaware of his state. The bouncer’s hand shots up too and grabs Jaskier’s before he can touch his forehead. Jaskier is startled slightly by the symbiosis of strength and gentleness in the bouncer’s touch, and he lets him guide his hand back down to his lap. The bouncer looks at him one last time before he lowers his gaze to put the disinfectant on the piece of gauze.

“You’re Geralt, aren’t you?” Jaskier asks, fishing the name somewhere from the depths of his memories.

“Hmmm,” he hums, not leaving his gaze from the tools in his hands.

“I’m Jaskier, by the way. Thought we might as well get on the first name basis.” Geralt’s eyes look up to him. “Hold still,” he says and puts a piece of gauze to Jaskier’s forehead. Jaskier flinches at the stinginess of the rubbing alcohol at his skin, and Geralt grumbles something. Then Geralt’s hand reaches up and cups Jaskier’s cheek. The touch is steady, and Jaskier knows he did it only to prevent him from flinching, but it still makes Jaskier’s cheeks burn hot.

“I said... hold... still,” Geralt says, and Jaskier swallows hard. Geralt glances at him shortly before he returns his gaze to Jaskier’s forehead.

“What kind of name is Jaskier anyway?” Geralt asks, and Jaskier knows he’s only asking him to distract him from the inevitable pain, but he appreciates the effort anyway.

“It’s aaaah,” Jaskier exclaims when the gauze touches his skin. But he doesn’t flinch anymore, not that he can when Geralt is holding his face steadily. “My parents were Polish. They moved here in hopes of a better future for them and me.” 

“Does it mean anything?” Geralt asks, his eyes fixed on Jaskier’s forehead. Jaskier, in the meantime, finds himself lost in Geralt’s hardened features. 

“It’s stupid,” he mumbles. “It means buttercup.”

Jaskier thinks he sees a small hint of a smile on Geralt’s face. But then Geralt moves the gauze again, and Jaskier has to close his eyes momentarily to prevent them from watering. Why does it sting so fucking much anyway? He thinks.

“What about you? Geralt’s not exactly a common name either.” Jaskier says, trying to think about anything but the pain.

“I’m from Iceland,” Geralt says shortly.

“Well, that explains the accent...” Jaskier says as his eyes roam across Geralt’s face, “...and the hair. And here I was, thinking you were just scared real bad as a child.”

Geralt’s eyes glance at him shortly before they return back to staring at his forehead, continuing to examine Jaskier’s features.

“And the eyes?” Jaskier says. “Is that an Icelandic thing too?”

Geralt looks at Jaskier, one eyebrow raised. “It’s just contact lenses.”

“Of course it is,” Jaskier tries to manage an easy-going smile, pretending like he knew it all along and was just playing the fool to humour Geralt.

“Manager says it’s good for business.” Geralt continues, “I prefer it over my real ones anyway.”

“Why?” Jaskier frowns.

Geralt’s hands pull away suddenly, and Jaskier almost leaves out a disapproving whimper but stops himself in the nick of time. Geralt gives him an expressionless look and pats him on the shoulder, a bit hard for Jaskier’s liking. “Looks good. You're not going to need stitches,” he says and stands up, turning to leave. 

“Wait,” Jaskier exclaims before he can properly think about it. Geralt half turns, and Jaskier has a chance to enjoy the sight at Geralt’s profile - and it’s as stunning as the rest of him.

“Let me buy you a drink, at least,” Jaskier says after he composes himself. “For, you know, saving me.”

Geralt seems to be thinking for a while, then grunts something that Jaskier assumes is a yes. He tells him to wait there and disappears again. After a moment, Geralt is back, now without the disinfectant and gauze. He leads Jaskier back to the front of the club, Jaskier now able to follow him on his own feet. As they walk into the main area, Jaskier notices it’s almost half empty already. Must be near the closing time, he thinks. They sit down at the bar, and Jaskier orders two beers. The bartender, the one that let Jaskier in, gives them a weird look and pours them two pints. Then he walks to the other side of the bar, leaving two of them alone.

Jaskier leans closer to Geralt and says: “I hope he didn’t spit in your beer. I think he doesn’t like you.”

Geralt huffs a small laugh. “Yeah, he doesn’t.”

“So,” Jaskier starts, hoping to sound nonchalant. “Is it because of that violet-eyed lady?”

Geralt looks at him for a while, before he answers. “Yennefer.” He says. “She and Milo had a thing going on. Then she dumped him. Milo thinks it’s because of me.”

“And... it’s not?” Jaskier’s eyebrows shot up. He might have been right all along about the guy looking way too good in the leather.

Geralt drinks half of his beer at once. “No,” he says. “She’s not my type.”

“Right,” Jaskier says, thinking if he should dig deeper or leave it be. Before he can make up his mind, though, Geralt surprises him with a question: “What does a metal singer doing at a rave anyway?”

Jaskier gasps slightly, acting like it hurt his feelings. “A person can like more than one genre of music at the same time, you know?”

“Hmm,” Geralt hums over his glass as he gulps from his beer again.

“You don’t look like the type, though,” he says.

Jaskier laughs lightly. “The type that likes raves? Or the type that is desperately trying to woo a hot dude in the leather outfit?”

Geralt drinks up again, and Jaskier suspects he’s hiding a smirk behind his glass. “The former.”

Jaskier grins freely. “Well, I do love good parties. But I also needed to let off steam. I’m working on the new song, and it has to be a hit.”

“How’s it going?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier smiles to himself. “It’s forming in there,” he taps his temple.

Geralt looks at him for a long while and then drinks the rest of his beer. He stands up and leans close to Jaskier, a strand of his snowy white hair brushing against Jaskier’s neck.

“I know a good way to let off some steam if you’re still interested. Meet me in the bathrooms.” With that, Geralt walks off, presumably to the mentioned bathrooms.

Jaskier can’t believe his ears, and he blinks few times in surprise. Then he turns quickly, seeing Geralt disappearing behind the corner already. He turns back to look at the empty stool next to him, trying to figure out if he’s dreaming or not. He’ll be dammed if there won’t be a catch in this, he thinks, but he decides to go for it anyway. He gulps down his pint and scurries away, looking for the bathroom.

When Jaskier walks into the bathroom, the room is empty. Right, he thinks. I should have known the guy was just pulling my leg. He leans against one of the closed stalls, running a hand through his hair. He should go home and sleep it off. He definitely has some idea for a song, though he’s not sure if it will be good enough. It will be better than nothing, though. And if they won’t won’t think it’s perfect, they still might use it for the second album. If there will be a second album.

Jaskier makes a move to lean away when the door to the stall opens, and he finds himself falling behind. But then someone grabs him and pulls him inside the stall. 

“Took you long enough,” Geralt whispers into his ear as he presses himself against Jaskier. Jaskier’s slim body seems so small, crowded by all the muscles of the white-haired Icelandic God in front of him. And thought come across Jaskier’s mind, how is this guy even interested in him. But then Geralt starts sucking at his neck hard and palming his dick through his pants at the same time, and all Jaskier’s former thoughts disappear into the hazy mist.

“Oh fuck, Geralt,” Jaskier pants. “You sure you want to do this? What if someone comes in? Can’t you lose your job or something?”

Geralt’s hand covers Jaskier’s mouth, Jaskier’s eyes shooting wide open.

“You talk too much,” Geralt half snarls through his teeth, and then Jaskier hears the sound of the buckle and zip unzipping. But he still feels the tightness in his pants, and when he looks down, he sees it’s Geralt’s pants that are open, an admirable bulge peaking out, trying to get free from the black boxers.

Jaskier’s mouth starts to salivate as he looks in Geralt’s eyes. The golden lenses are hiding what Jaskier knows are Geralt's dilated pupils, and he somehow finds the strength to push the bigger man into the opposite wall of the stall. Geralt widens his eyes in surprise, but Jaskier is already on his knees, taking Geralt’s length in his hands. Geralt suppresses a moan as Jaskier licks the head of his cock and then takes him in his mouth, not wasting any time. Geralt bucks his hips to meet Jaskier’s mouth, and it’s Jaskier’s turn to suppress a moan. Jaskier works Geralt expertly, licking and sucking, and cupping his balls from time to time. It doesn’t take long, and Geralt grunts a warning for Jaskier. Jaskier looks up to meet the golden eyes of the white-haired bouncer and takes him in even deeper. Geralt puts a fist in his mouth to prevent from moaning too loudly as he comes into Jaskier’s mouth hard.

Jaskier swallows everything he can and what he misses he makes sure to lick afterward before he gently tucks Geralt junior back to his boxers. Then he scrambles back to his feet and sits on the closed toilet lid, trying to catch a breath. It’s been a while he sucked someone, and Geralt is really big, so he’s sure no-one would blame him for not finding words for a while.

As Jaskier is resting on the toilet, his eyes half-closed, he feels Geralt moving. Jaskier opens his eyes to see Geralt standing over him, looking at Jaskier’s hard-on in his pants. Jaskier grins and says. “And you didn’t want to let me in.”

Geralt leans in and steadies himself against the wall, so he’s bending over, his face only a few inches from Jaskier’s. 

“I just wanted to see how far are you’re willing to go to get inside,” he whispers with a slight grin. “And you were also high as a kite. I knew you’d be trouble.” 

Jaskier leans in, trying to capture Geralt’s lips, but Geralt pulls away. “No kissing,” he says, and Jaskier feels a stab in his gut. Of course, we wouldn’t want to make this too intimate, would we? Jaskier thinks. But before he can linger on the feeling any longer, Geralt is undoing his pants and kneeling down, giving him the same treatment as Jaskier gave him moments before. It’s not long, and Jaskier is coming into Geralt’s mouth, watching mesmerized as the white-haired giant is swallowing him whole with ease.

“Fuck,” Jaskier breathes out, utterly spent as Geralt stands up over him again. He feels Geralt’s hand gently cupping his cheek, and he looks up to him, tired and sleepy. Jaskier’s been through a lot this evening, so he’s not sure if he just imagines it. Or it might be a light reflecting in the golden contact lenses, but he feels like there's remorse in Geralt’s eyes.

“The club is closing in ten minutes,” Geralt says and pulls his hand away. “Goodbye, Jaskier,” he says and turns away, leaving the stall and closing it behind him, to give Jaskier some privacy.

Jaskier stays sitting there, his pants still half down, as he’s trying to wrap his head around this whole night.

******

The last notes of Jaskier’s new song fade away, and he looks up from his guitar expectantly. His breath catches in his lungs involuntarily, as he awaits the verdict of his bandmates. Their silence is atrocious to Jaskier, and he runs all the disastrous outcomes in his mind. They absolutely hated it, they’re going to tell him he completely sucks, they’re going to kick him out of the band, no matter that he founded it. Jaskier is now thinking about a list of possible jobs he could be doing instead of music when someone clears their throat. He focuses his eyes on his bandmates and realizes they’re all looking at him now. Matt gives him a gentle smile that contrasts with his rough features. Jaskier tries to smile back, but his lips refuse to cooperate, and he’s sure it looks weird and nervous. 

“So, what say you?” he asks impatiently. 

Thelia, who was scribbling down into her notebook most of the time Jaskier was playing, is now looking at him with a thoughtful expression, her wheels still turning. “Well, I liked it, but it needs improving here and there when it comes to some chord progressions. I’ve already written down some ideas while you were playing. I can come up with something fitting in a few hours. If” she looks at others, “you want to go ahead and do it.”

Tolvi nods enthusiastically. “Oh, yes. It’s incredible. It has this great medieval feel into it. The hero is just spectacular.”

Well, the things finally returned to their normal state, Jaskier thinks. Matt smiles at him wide and makes a few steps closer to him. He gets him into a headlock and scratches his head amicably. “You’re the beast, Jask. I never doubted you’d do that.”

Jaskier tries to get away from the hold Matt has on him but to no avail. He grunts his protests until Matt releases him, only to clasp him into a tight hug. “I’m proud of you, Jask. I really am.”

“Uhm, thanks,” Jaskier says when Matt releases him from his embrace.

Jaskier turns to face Bronagh, who is eyeing him carefully, biting her lower lip. “Fine,” she says. “Let’s get to work guys, we don’t have much time.”

It takes them two days to record the instruments for the song, and then Jaskier starts to work on his vocals. But singing, something that usually brings him incredible joy, now seems to only bring him frustration and annoyance. Something doesn’t feel right about the song. It is _almost_ perfect, but there is still something missing. A small change he can’t grasp properly. Tolvi, being one of the biggest fans of Jaskier's singing, is cleaning his lute and listening to Jaskier working in his audio hole the whole day. Jaskier now flops next to him on the couch, thoroughly spent.

“Something’s not right,” Jaskier sighs. “I can hear it when I sing. Something isn’t adding up in the lyrics. Tolvi,” he addresses his mate, drawing a leg up on the couch to better face him. “Be honest with me. When you listen to the song. Is there something that comes as off to you?”

“Well, yes,” Tolvi says after a bit of thought. “But it’s... it’s not—”

“Tell me,” Jaskier demands. “Please tell me so I can fix it.”

“Alright,” Tolvi sighs in defeat. “I still don’t quite get why the titular hero is a Watcher. What is he watching over? And if he’s a Watcher, why is he so active?”

Jaskier suppresses an eye roll and mumbles: “This again?” 

“Alright, look,” Jaskier says, “As I told you before, he’s called the Watcher because he watches over people, observing them.”

“Yes, but watching is a passive action. He is very active in the rest of the song. Why would people toss a coin to him if he didn’t do anything but watch the events as they unfold?” Tolvi’s brows furrow.

“Well, he’s not exactly impassive. I mean, he does get involved sometimes when it’s necessary.”

“Well then, he hardly can be called a Watcher, can’t he?” Tolvi says.

“What else am I supposed to call him then?” Jaskier retorts, throwing his hands in surrender. “A hero? A menace? A butcher?”

“Well,” Tolvi thinks for a moment, fidgeting with his flute, “he fights the monsters, right?”

“Yeah, and?” Jaskier asks, leaning back against the couch.

“Let’s see,” Tolvi says, his brows furrowing even deeper. “A medieval-style hero that fights monsters and is mostly despised by people, otherwise he wouldn’t need a song to get people to like him.”

Jaskier looks at Tolvi with an examining expression, but he doesn’t interrupt his friend’s line of thoughts.

“Why would people dislike him so much? He’s helping them, after all. Is he perhaps really ugly? People tend to look down on ugly people. Or could he be different in another way? Ah yes, different is good.” A small smile lights Tolvi’s face. “People always fear others who are different. And people in middle ages, what kind of difference was one they most despised?”

Jaskier isn’t sure if Tolvi’s question is just narrative or not, so he shrugs, honestly not knowing where his mate is going with that. Tolvi’s eyes glisten as he grasps Jaskier by his shoulders. “Magic, Jaskier. They despised magic. The guy in your song could be some kind of a wizard. Or, you know, a witch - since it’s a gender-neutral word.” Tolvi’s eyes widen impossibly, and a huge grin appears on his lips, an epiphany written all over his face. “The Witcher,” he almost whispers in excitement.

Jaskier is looking at him, wheels turning in his head. He mouths the lyrics, looking suspiciously at Tolvi. Could he be onto something? Toss a coin to your Witcher... “Shit,” Jaskier’s own eyes widen, and he hastily scrambles up from the couch and aims it back to his audio hole. “Alright, let’s try it then,” he whispers to himself and pushes play to get the instrumental version to his headphones.

*****

A few days later, the band is listening to the final mix of their hit song, everyone having a beer in their hands. As the song finishes and Jaskier’s high vocals sound from the speakers, they all cheer in unison. The hugs and claps on the backs are given, and Jaskier basks in the light of future success and job well done. They’re all in a good mood, and Jaskier is genuinely happy with the way his song turned out to be. And yet, he doesn’t feel as happy as he should. 

When all other members start to talk with each other, Jaskier sees the opening and ducks out of the studio for a quick cigarette. He walks out to the back street and lights one up. He told himself he’d stop. He also told everyone he knew, because foolishly, he thought that when people know, it will hold him accountable for trying harder. Well, it didn’t work the way he wanted. But in the past few weeks rarely anything did. 

He hears the door to the studio open, and he turns to see Bronagh walking out to meet him. “Though I’d find you here,” she said, raising an eyebrow at the cigarette in his hand.

“I’m quitting,” Jaskier says, looking only half guilty.

“I can see that,” Bronagh adds with a slightly amused smile. “Listen, uh, I wanted to talk to you,” she starts, looking down at the ground, shoving at a little rock with her foot. She has her arms crossed at her chest, hugging her maroon hoodie close to her body. It’s a chilly day, drizzling even. But they are shielded from the worst by the roof above them.

“I, uh,” Bronagh says, “I think I was really mean to you before. And I... doubted you could actually write such a good song in such a little time. I guess what I want to say is, I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok,” Jaskier smiles at her gently. “I know you wanted this as much as I did. Maybe even more.”

“Definitely more,” Bronagh laughs shortly, but her face then turns solemn. Jaskier throws away a fag end and turns to her entirely.

“Hey,” he says, and Bronagh’s bright green eyes look up to him. Jaskier puts a comforting hand on her shoulder and squeezes it gently. “Your father would be really proud of you.”

Bronagh smiles at him, a bit happier. “Thanks.”

Jaskier nods and pulls away from her, turning to look at empty street in front of them. They stay silent for a while, both of them contemplated in their own thoughts. Then Bronagh nudges Jaskier gently in the shoulder. “So, the guy the song is about.” she says, a devious grin at her face, “did you sleep with him?”

Jaskier gasps loudly, putting his hands at his hips in a posture of defence. “What-how...” he tries to think about a coherent sentence. “Are you perhaps short of a marble?” he squawks. “How did you even come up with something like that?”

“Oh, come on,” Bronagh rolls her eyes. “ _And along with the Witcher came this song_? Could you be any more obvious?”

Jaskier tries to deny it by flamboyantly flapping his arms around in dramatic gestures, grunting incoherently. But seeing Bronagh is not fooled by his poor attempt of glossing over the subject, he sighs as he shoves his hand in his jeans’ pockets. “We’ve had an encounter, yes... of a sexual kind.” 

“Must have been a helluva encounter when you wrote a song about the guy after that.” Bronagh laughs heartily.

Jaskier feels himself blush as he fidgets slightly, licking his lips nervously. “It wasn’t just that.”

Bronagh looks at him for a moment before her eyes widen in understanding: “Blimey,” she exclaims. “You fell for him.”

“I did not,” Jaskier starts, but then just sighs in defeat. “I don’t know how I feel about him. But it doesn’t matter anyway.”

“Oh, come on, you have to pursue this,” Bronagh insists, nudging him playfully again.

“It’s not like I didn’t try,” Jaskier says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve gone back to that club I´ve met him in, Rivia. But he wasn’t working that night. And well, asking a third person for his number seemed a bit stalkerish to me. Going back did too, to be honest, but I couldn’t help it, I had to try.” 

Jaskier shrugs and looks into the drizzling rain. “Doesn’t matter now. It was just a little bathroom fling, nothing else.”

After another moment of silence, he looks at Bronagh and puts on a brave smile. “Come now.” He says. “We have an album to release and become famous.”

******

The lights hit Jaskier’s eyes, and the smell of fabricated fog hits his nostrils. He feels like he’s going to melt under the intense lightning, but he’s also enjoying every minute of it. Their time on the stage is coming to an end, and soon they’re going to step aside for the main act of the evening, and true masters, DragonForce. But now, the audience is theirs. And so far, they seem to accept them very well. Jaskier even notices few people singing along to their songs, which surprises him, but also warms his heart. 

He looks over the audience again as he stands in the middle of the stage, microphone in his hand. He’s nervous as hell, as he hasn’t been for a very long time, but he knows his bandmates have his back, no matter what. He scans the crowd again, and his heart stops for a split of a second when he thinks he sees a tall, white-haired man in the far back of the crowd. But then he blinks and realizes it’s just a lady with platinum blond hair piggybacking some dude. Don’t be stupid, Jaskier thinks. He takes in a deep breath and puts the microphone to his mouth.

“How you doing tonight?” he shouts, and the crowd cheers. This is incredible, he thinks. He hasn’t felt so alive for a long time. “Thank you for having us tonight. You have been an amazing crowd. Are you ready for DragonForce?” Louder cheering. Hell yes, Jaskier thinks. He is excited to see them, too, after all. “Alright, then. Let us grace you with one last song. This one’s called... Toss a Coin To Your Witcher.”

Someone in the audience makes a high pitched scream that creates a massive smile on Jaskier’s face. Well, there’s definitely at least one fan of theirs in the crowd.

Jaskier glances at their bandmates and nods slightly at Thelia. She nods back and starts plucking at her guitar. Jaskier closes his eyes and starts singing.

_When a humble bard_

_Graced a ride-along_

_With Geralt of Rivia_

_Along came this song_

_From when the White Wolf fought_

_A silver-tongued devil_

_His army of elves_

_At his hooves did they ravel_

Bronagh chimes in with drums, a huge smile plastered on her face. Tolvi also adds his rhythm guitar, and Matt starts playing his bass. Jaskier opens his eyes and notices that lots of people are singing along with him. His smile gets impossibly wide as he continues to sing.

_They came after me_

_With masterful deceit_

_Brokedown my lute_

_And they kicked in my teeth_

_While the devil’s horns_

_Minced our tender meat_

_And so cried the Witcher_

_He can’t be bleat_

Jaskier is scanning the crowd as he sings, and when the chorus comes, there seems to be no doubt about it anymore. The whole audience is singing along with him.

_Toss a coin to your Witcher_

_O’ Valley of Plenty_

_O’ Valley of Plenty_

_Oh oh oh_

_Toss a coin to your Witcher_

_O’ Valley of Plenty_

Jaskier’s smile gets even brighter as he moves around the stage, communicating with the crowd. He knows already that the second chorus he’s letting them sing. 

_At the edge of the world_

_Fight the mighty horn_

_That bashes and breaks you_

_And brings you to mourn_

_He thrust every elf_

_Far back on the shelf_

_High up on the mountain_

_From whence it came_

Jaskier feels blissful, almost high at the energy of the people around him. It’s far better than any cigarette or weed or any other drug he ever had. Cause at the end of the day, music is Jaskier’s drug of choice.

_He wiped out your pest_

_Got kicked in his chest_

_He’s a friend of humanity_

_So give him the rest_

_That’s my epic tale_

_Our champion prevailed_

_Defeated the villain_

_Now pour him some ale_

And now the time comes. Jaskier turns his microphone to the crowd and gestures invitingly for them to join him. And the sound of thousand voices rings in Jaskier’s ears.

_Toss a coin to your Witcher_

_O’ Valley of Plenty_

_O’ Valley of Plenty_

_Oh oh oh_

_Toss a coin to your Witcher_

_A friend of humanity_

“Alright!” Jaskier shouts with an immense grin as he puts the microphone back to his mouth and sings. 

_Toss a coin to your Witcher_

_O’ Valley of Plenty_

_O’ Valley of Plenty_

_Oh oh oh_

_Toss a coin to your Witcher_

_A friend of humanity_

And now to the best part. Jaskier takes it even higher, opening his voice for a screamer as he sings the chorus one last time.

_Toss a coin to your Witcher_

_O’ Valley of Plenty_

_O’ Valley of Plenty_

_Oh oh oh_

_Toss a coin to your Witcher_

_A friend of humanity_

Jaskier’s bandmates end the song, and the crowd cheers like never before. Jaskier gloats in the warm applause and cheering, feeling of blissfulness spreading through him like wildfire. 

After their set is done, Jaskier and the rest of Devil’s Bards start helping their crew to put their equipment away. Few of their friends agreed to help them out because they’re not famous enough yet to not do that themselves. But in the end, all great bands went through this phase. So there’s not a bit of shame in doing this. Quite contrary, getting everything out of the stage is a form of meditation for Jaskier, as he is replaying their whole half an hour set in his mind. It was a great beginning of a great tour, and they couldn’t ask for better acceptance from the crowd. This tour will define the rest of their career, and Jaskier has a good feeling about it.

Jaskier and Matt launch the last loudspeaker to one of the buses, and Matt dusts off his hands. Then he turns back to Jaskier.

“You’ve been great,” Matt says as he pats Jaskier on the shoulder. 

Jaskier gives him a genuine smile. “No man, you’ve been amazing. You know we’d be nothing without your sick bass licks.”

Matt laughs shortly. “Right on.” he glances back to the hall. “Gonna watch some DragonForce?”

Jaskier takes a deep breath. “Sure. But I’m going to lit one first.” he pulls a bag of cigarettes out of his pockets. “Gotta calm down a bit.”

Matt shakes his head. “I won’t understand how you can smoke that shit, but suit yourself, man. We’ll be inside.”

Jaskier nods and leans against the bus. He puts the cigarette to his mouth and lights it up. He closes his eyes as he draws the smoke in, feeling it spread through his lungs. He knows it’s probably just psychological, but he does feel more relaxed already. He leans his head against the bus and blows out the smoke slowly. It was a good night, he smiles. It was a great night. Except for the moment, he thought he saw Geralt. Jaskier shudders. He didn’t think about Geralt for a while, that being quite an achievement since he was singing about him constantly. But Geralt in his song was just a fictional magical character that saved a random bard from certain death. But the real Geralt; Jaskier made his peace with the thought that he won’t ever see him again. And it was alright. After all, it was just a little fling, not a great love story. Jaskier genuinely thought he moved on. But that moment he thought he saw him in the crowd, it all came back. The fluttery feeling of Jaskier’s stomach when he looked into his yellow eyes, the firm but gentle grip Geralt had on him when nursing him back to health. The scarce but gentle smiles that graced Geralt’s lips now and then, and his unique way of communicating in grunts and noises. Jaskier smiles to himself as he thinks about him. He would like to know what he’d think about his song. But alas, they’re not destined to meet again.

Jaskier has his cigarette almost finished when he hears soft footsteps approaching him. With his eyes still closed, he says with a gentle smile: “I’m on my way, Matt. You can’t stand to be without me for five minutes?”

“Your song,” a low rumbled voice says, and Jaskier’s hand freezes halfway on its way to his mouth. “That’s not how it happened.”

Jaskier opens his eyes, and his breath hitches. “Geralt?” he gets out of himself, but the word sounds more like a yelp than a name. “What are you?” Jaskier starts, staring widely at the white-haired guy standing few feet from him, dressed all in black, his hands deep inside his jacket pockets.

“Oh, I know. Oh no. You’ve heard the song. And you hated it. And you want to sue me cause I used your name in it without your permission.” Jaskier finds himself talking without really wanting to. “Oh shit, did someone came bothering you about that? I could have eluded the name of Rivia, couldn’t I? At least it wouldn’t be that obvious. But now everyone knows who you are. I mean, everyone with few marbles in their heads. But then again, it’s not like this song is going to be the hit in the pop charts anyway. And I’m pretty sure I’m the only metal lover that ever graced the floor of Rivia anyway. So it’s not like people who’ll listen to this song will know where or what Rivia is, hence knowing who you are.”

As Jaskier talks nervously, he doesn’t notice Geralt moving and closing the distance between them. Jaskier blinks when he feels Geralt's lips on his own and Geralt’s huge body crowding him, gently pressing his back against the bus. He gasps in surprise as he feels Geralt’s hand cupping the back of his neck, and then Geralt’s tongue licks his bottom lip. Jaskier opens his mouth for the bigger man without thinking, leaving out a slight sigh as Geralt deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring Jaskier’s mouth. He finds himself pressing against Geralt’s big body, cigarette in his hand falling to the ground, forgotten. He puts one of his hands on Geralt’s hip, the other on his biceps, and lets himself be carried away by the kiss. 

It feels like eternity and way too short at the same time when Geralt finally pulls away from Jaskier, resting his forehead against the brown-haired singer. He smiles gently, his eyes still closed.

“You talk too much,” Geralt whispers.

Jaskier smiles, bringing his hand from Geralt’s shoulder to cup his cheek. “So, I’ve been told.”

Geralt pulls away a few inches, just to look into Jaskier’s eyes better. Jaskier is taken aback by the sight of blue eyes sparkling with joy. But as he looks more closely, he notices that Geralt’s left eye has a patch of brown in the right upper corner.

“This is why you don’t like your eyes?” Jaskier asks, remembering what Geralt said that night in the club.

Geralt pulls away more, shifting his gaze away from Jaskier. Jaskier’s hand, still cupping Geral’s cheek, starts rubbing soothing circles with his thumb. 

Geralt speaks, almost whispering. “I’m way too different as it is. I mean, just look at me. Giant, white-haired freak. I... I don’t like to stand out with my eyes too.”

Jaskier brings up his other hand to cup Geralt’s other cheek, making Geralt to face him. “Look at me,” he says firmly. When Geralt does, Jaskier says: “You are unique and oh so beautiful. Don’t you ever hide your beauty behind cheap tricks. And never ever be ashamed of it.”

Jaskier leans in, putting a gentle kiss on Geralt’s lips. When they pull apart, Jaskier’s hand travels down, finding Geralt’s palm. He entwines their fingers, smiling at Geralt gently. “Wanna go see the concert?”

“Hmm,” Geralt hums with a smile.

They start walking, hand in hand, back towards the hall. Jaskier’s heart is racing, and his stomach fluttering as he thinks about what a coincidence it is that Geralt showed up tonight. 

“Wait,” Jaskier frowns suddenly, halting. “How did you know we’re playing tonight?”

Geralt looks away momentarily, seeing almost sheepish, a sight Jaskier thought he’d never see.

“Bronagh came by to Rivia and told me off about letting you go.” Geralt mumbles.

“Oh,” Jaskier says, feeling a blush, but also a huge smile creeping to his face. Yeah, his bandmates always had his back, not just on stage.

“She was right, though,” Geralt continues, looking tot he ground. “I was a fool to let you go like that. I was... afraid.”

"Afraid?" Jaskier's eyebrows shot up. "Of what?"

Geralt looks up, his eyes searching in Jaskier's for a moment. "Of falling for you."

"Oh," Jaskier says again, uncharacteristically out of words. "Would that be such a bad thing?"

A ghost of a smile appears on Geralt's face. "No, it wouldn't."

Jaskier smiles then even wider and licks his lips nervously. “So you want to... I don’t know... go on a date sometime?”

Geralt smiles: “I’d like that.”

“Good,” Jaskier exclaims excitingly, but then frowns immediately, his face long. “Wait. There’s a problem though,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. He sighs heavily and throws his free hand in frustration. “Guys from DragonForce asked us to support them on their UK tour. And it’s a huge opportunity for us, especially now, when we released our first album. People could really get to know about us. But I don’t want to—”

Geralt puts his index finger gently on Jaskier’s lips to shut him up. “How long is it?” he asks.

“Two months.” Jaskier mumbles against Geralt’s finger.

Geralt moves his hand away and tucks a stray hair from Jaskier’s forehead. “I could do that,” he says.

“Do what?” Jaskier frowns, his gaze questioning.

Geralt looks deeply into Jaksier’s eyes and says: “Wait for you.”

Jaskier’s breath hitches. “Geralt, I...” he is at loss of words, something this man is capable of achieving way too often for Jaskier’s comfort.

“We should probably exchange numbers,” Geralt says.

“Yeah, yeah, we should,” Jaskier nods in agreement, already fishing out his mobile. Geralt takes it out of his hands gently when Jaskier unlocks it and types his number with a slight smirk. Jaskier is only watching him, not able to say a word. When Geralt’s finished, he looks up to meet Jaskier’s eyes again, handing him his cell-phone back. 

“Oh, and, you really didn’t have to put the part about me coming into the song.”

Jaskier laughs nervously, “Nah, don’t worry. People are not gonna understand it like that.”

Geralt shakes his head and rolls his eyes slightly, but a gentle smile on his lips undermines his annoyed expression. “Whatever. Just don’t write any more songs about me.”

“Oh,” Jaskier says, biting his lower lip. He looks up to Geralt sheepishly. With a mischievous grin, he asks: “And what about the ones that are already written? Oh, but don’t worry, in this one, people really are not going to realize it’s about you. Your name is nowhere to be found in it. Or anything else that could be connected to you. You’ll see. I can show you. Or even better, I can sing it to you. It’s a rough version still, but it’s going to be another hit, I just feel it. It’s going to be called... The Song of the White Wolf.”

Geralt is watching Jaskier blabbering about this new song of his, and he realizes something he didn’t before. He really likes listening to Jaskier’s voice, whether he’s talking or singing. He’s sure they’re going to call each other a lot during those next two months. And maybe, one day, Geralt thinks, I might even fall asleep listening to Jaskier’s voice. Yeah, I’d like that very much. 

**Author's Note:**

> Also, I've been in a hurry when posting and totally forgot to thank my amazing gals, Rakshena and AryaTF, who helped me brainstorm ideas so this story could come to life. And sorry gals for waiting so long for this ♡


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